Fierce Protector: Hard to Handle trilogy, Book 1 by Janine Kane Page A

together with the referee at the center of the ring and bumped gloves in the traditional manner. Then, however, came something very much not of the MMA tradition: they placed their foreheads together and seemed, for all the world, to pray out loud, whispering the same invocation. It was as expected to the crowd as it was unexpected to Eva, Trish and Tyler, who glanced at each other, unsure what to make of this unusual and touching moment. The two fighters then hugged briefly, bumped gloves again and stepped back to let the referee deliver the rules.
    “Tyler, what’s going on? None of the other rounds started this way.” Eva’s interest couldn’t have been more peaked.
    “I have no idea,” he said, entirely mystified. “Like I said, he’s a legend around here. You heard the announcer . . . and this crazy-ass crowd.”
    “Didn’t it seem like he and Brandon know each other?” Trish suggested, but before anyone could speculate, the round began.
    With a swift hand motion, the diminutive referee bade the two men fight . Eva’s heart pumped as Zack began a dodging, dancing, fleet-footed style of combat. It was impressively quick and precise, responding to Brandon’s every jab with a well-timed duck, fading away as though able to predict his every move. Brandon himself eluded many of Zack’s early punches, catching a few to the side of the head, but not allowing himself to become rattled. Coming in close, Brandon tried a swift knee contact with Zack’s belly, but found himself hurled back and twisted onto his side. In a blink, Zack had pounced, pinning Brandon down in a writhing flurry of limbs and gloves.
    Just what is this man? Eva found herself wondering. A lamb, or a lion? She watched as Brandon managed, somehow, to wriggle free and right himself, backing towards the far ropes to give himself time to regroup. Zack flexed his shoulders and advanced confidently, but received two quick blows to the head, a hard elbow and a meaty punch, which stopped his progress and saw him buying his own time. There was a period of terse exchanges, careful and reactive, neither fighter prepared to commit. Long before she expected it, the round was over, five minutes of combat brought to a close.
    Brandon was receiving ice to his face and was inhaling an energy drink as though his life depended on it, but in the other corner, Eva saw, the scene was very different. Mitch knelt by his friend as Zack sat quietly, eyes closed, breathing very deeply in a regular, practiced pattern. Gloved hands on his thighs, posture upright, Zack simply breathed for the whole of the break. Called back into action, his eyes flew open and he advanced once more with renewed confidence.
    Brandon’s tactics had changed. He now sought to pin Zack down, avoiding the ruinous head punches which had almost certainly lost him the opening round. Pulled in close by an ill-advised upper cut which left him off balance, Brandon recovered and reached back to pull Zack’s legs forward. He may as well have tried to uproot a tree. Zack stepped neatly out of the clumsy embrace and delivered a heavy kick to Brandon’s stomach, ruining the balance his opponent had regained, and followed with a sequence of aggressive punches to the face, a quick, carefully orchestrated ballet of violence, which Brandon simply could not block. Toppling backward helplessly, Brandon was instantly grappled once more, Zack’s knee in his belly, forearm across his throat, their positions shifting constantly in a battle to apply, and relieve, pressure.
    Brandon’s arm was turned suddenly to one side, forcing the fighter onto his front, whereupon Zack sat atop his opponent and threatened to catch him him in a headlock so strong that Eva feared for Brandon’s life. Invisible to the crowd, but promptly announced by the referee, Brandon tapped Zack’s knee three times in the accepted signal of submission. The victor leapt up and helped his friend to his feet, lauded by the crowd in another giant